


You can run away with me any time you want

by Trojie



Series: Any time you want [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst, M/M, Preseries, Sex in the Impala, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:52:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tries to hitchhike to Stanford. Dean picks him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You can run away with me any time you want

**Author's Note:**

> Wincest; preseries but not underage. Angst, abandonment issues.

Dean pulls over for a tall kid thumbing for a lift in the rain, duffle-bag soaked and over his shoulder. Two days ago he thought he knew this guy ... but no. Now he's just a hitchhiker, and Dean's just a concerned citizen. He doesn't love this kid. He doesn't know him. 

Hell, maybe he never knew him at all. 

The hitchhiker sits in the passenger's side of the Impala awkwardly, all slouch and knees and slant-eyed-resentment, like he's doing Dean a favour by letting Dean give him a ride. His hair is dripping wet and ratty. Dean wants to ruffle it dry, but you don't touch strangers like that. The guy on the far, far side of the Impala is unexplored territory, out of reach and maybe out of bounds.

'Thanks for the lift,' he says grudgingly, like each word hurts to let out. 

'Couldn't just leave you there,' Dean says. And 'cos this kid is a stranger to him now Dean can acknowledge that he's looking, that he's all kinds of Dean's type (he pretty much defines it), long bones stretching out, last edge of teenage puppy-fat rounding the corners of him but all muscle underneath, and 'cos this kid is a stranger now Dean doesn't have to grit his teeth and turn away when he gives Dean that look from under his lashes, that look Dean has had to ignore for years because - 

\- fuck it, it doesn't matter why. That was then. This kid is a stranger, now. 

Dean doesn't ask where he's headed - he doesn't need to. That duffle's full of books, this highway goes straight like an arrow, and the reason Dean doesn't know who this kid is is because he knows exactly where he's going.

***

Highways are endless, their single-point perspective gives you infinity as long as you don't reach the end of it, and Dean keeps this moment stretching on forever by pulling over. 

The back seat has always been big enough for two, but when Dean's passenger hoists himself over into it and sprawls into the leather like he's seen too many bad pornos it's like it shrinks. Dean follows him back there, darkly hungry for what's being promised to him in nothing but glances and poses, the same language he's been pretending he doesn't speak for way too long.

'Oh, Jesus,' the kid says when Dean stretches out over him, looks him in the eye for a long moment to give him an escape hatch, a get-out-of-jail free card - all he has to say is a name, shatter the illusion they've got going here, but no. He licks his lips instead, leaves a faint, wet shine in the weak moonlight eking through the windows, and Dean kisses him. 

He's kissed people before, on infinite roads in the back of this car, and every time, he learns their tastes underneath the familiar scent of leather and blacktop - always first kisses, for Dean, and this one is no exception.

He tastes rain. He feels the cold, wet-shiver of the soft, chapped mouth under his, colder hands sweeping up under his shirts, and Dean fists his hands in that soaked, shaggy hair and lets himself moan into the kiss, honest for once.

'Jesus _fuck_ ,' gasps the kid under him when Dean grinds down, and flips Dean up and over and around, a bastardised close-quarters combat move Dean knows by heart, 'til Dean's wedged, sitting-position, into the back seat and the kid's keeping him there by straddling his knees and pinning his shoulders, lower legs dangling over the edge, and then he's kissing Dean like he's eating him out, deep-wet and pulsing, hungry, and its all Dean can do to just hang on, swept away by this hurricane.

'Always -' the kid says, half-angry into the corner of Dean's mouth when he finally has to breathe, and Dean turns his head and catches him in another kiss just to make him shut up before either of them has the air they need. It's breathless, Dean's hands finding where the kid's jeans ride low and loose because he's long in the leg but skinny like a rake, whiplash-whipcord thin.

Dean can't let him talk unless it's to leave. This highway is infinite as long as you never reach a landmark. This doesn't have to mean a thing if they don't let it. The kid could get out now and walk, and Dean would pick him up again in a heartbeat, in a quarter-mile's distance, and they could start over, no harm, no foul, and it would be fine. But if he wants to stay like this, it's gotta be down in the dark like this.

There's always that moment though, Dean knows it too well, when you crest a rise in the road you didn't even know was there, and you hang in space at the mercy of your chassis - and on the other side -

Teeth fasten in Dean's skin, sweet and sharp, and long fingers slide into his underwear. He doesn't even remember getting his jeans open. The other side of that rise, there's a drop, all the lines have shifted, perspective changed. 'Want you to fuck me,' says the kid, curling his hand around Dean's cock.

Dean's fucked strangers before in the back of his baby. That's what he does, right? 

'Lube in the glovebox,' he says instead of what he wants to say. He's being practical - he can't reach it. But the kid lets go and hangs over the front seat for a moment, then slides down between his legs, hungry noises pressed through Dean's denim.

'You really gonna let me, then?' Dean's knees get wedged further apart, jeans start to get pulled down. 'You really want this?' the guy says, almost awed, and there's too much history there. 

'Wanted it since the moment you got in the car,' Dean says, trying to take a bit of this back for himself. He sees the moment of confusion-realisation-resentment cross the kid's face, and kicks himself. 'Picked you up for a reason,' he says, because he can't stop, and God but that's cruel. Too far, Dean, he tells himself when the anger flashes in the guy's eyes.

He almost apologises on instinct, but he doesn't get the chance.

'Then I should make it worth your while, huh,' and the guy sucks down Dean's cock in a hot, smooth move that there's no way in the world he hasn't practiced. Jealousy flares like rocket ignition in Dean's head - he grabs at the wet, shaggy head between his legs and holds him there, possessive, feeling the guy choke and grab back, fucking himself down, tongue working like a pro and goddammit that is not helping Dean's sudden caveman instincts.

But the kid fights his way back up, pulls off and there's real heat like burning in his eyes when he says, ' _Dean_ -' raw and hungry, and it ruins everything. 

_Sammy ..._

Dean jerks away, drags his jeans back up, clutches his flies closed and tries to pretend he's not still hard enough to pound nails. He shoves away to the far corner of the back seat, leaves Sam in the footwell with a slashed-open expression on his face. 

'Dean, what -'

'I'm not doing this,' Dean says. 'Not with you.'

'What? You do it with everyone else,' Sam snaps, and if Dean thought he was the jealous one before it's only because he's never seen Sam's face like this, like everything's been building up for so long ...

'You're my brother, Sam.' Dean swallows bile at the thought of what he was about to - what he wanted. What he's always wanted. 'I'm not doing this.'

Sam doesn't get it, Dean can tell. He's furious, unwinds himself from the floor and gets right up back into Dean's space and there's nowhere for Dean to run from him, and isn't that just hilariously ironic? 'You were _about_ to do this. You were about to do _me_ ,' Sam grits into Dean's face. 'What stopped you, Dean?'

Dean looks away, forces himself to. He can still feel Sam's breath against his jawline. 

'Oh,' says Sam. 'It's the names, isn't it. What, you thought you could play this like a random hookup, Dean? No names, no guilt? Am I that easy to get over?'

'You left!' Dean says, before he can stop himself. 'You fucked off, abandoned us, and what am I supposed to do, huh Sam?'

They stare at each other, both half-panting, both angry, and there's that cresting-the-rise moment again. Dean waits for the hard landing that's surely coming.

'You could come with me,' Sam whispers, and Dean doesn't just land, he crashes. 

'Sammy -'

'Fresh start, Dean,' Sam wheedles, and Dean wants to say yes to this more than he wants anything but he _can't_. He's got Dad, and hunting, and he wouldn't ever fit in in Sam's dream life, and he'd go with Sam anywhere - back to back in any fight, run into any burning building, take on any monster for him - but he can't follow him into bullshit normality. He won't.

'No,' Dean says. 'Sam, I can't. I -'

'And this?' Sam asks. He rolls his hips. 'Can you do this? For me? With me?' He's unbuttoning his jeans - doesn't look like he cares what Dean's reply is gonna be, shoving the denim roughly down his mile-long legs. 

Dean grits his teeth. Can't say no, can't say yes. Or, well. Can't and won't and shouldn't are all knotted up in his head right now, because he wants to so bad but he knows there are so many reasons to not do this. 

But sweet Jesus fuck, Sam isn't making it easy for him. He's scrabbling around in the footwell where he was just before for something, Dean isn't sure what, too busy trying to keep his cool and his pants on while Sam makes a mockery of riding him, buck-ass nude from the waist down and Dean isn't looking, he isn't -

Sam grabs what he was after, steadies against Dean's shoulder with one hand, and brings the packet of lube up to his mouth with the other, delicately rips it with his teeth. It spills all over his hand. 

Dean realises what Sam's doing when he reaches his wet hand back behind him and his face crumples into something urgent. He's opening himself up. He's putting his goddamn fingers up his ass, and he's looking into Dean's face as he does it. There's no way for Dean to distance himself from this. They're both big guys, so when Sam really scrunches up on his knees so he can get a better angle, Dean's right there for every sharp breath and muttered curse, every tiny tremble of Sam's goddamn jaw, half an inch away from Dean's mouth as he fingers himself.

'If this is it, Dean,' says Sam, breath hitching, 'if this is the last time I see you, I need you to do this for me.'

'Sam, we can't just -' Dean's hands come up to steady Sam, because he's lurching with the rhythm of his fingers and Dean can't bear to not help him, hold him.

'I want you,' Sam pants, going harder. 'Always wanted you, Dean, any way you'd let me - wanna fuck you, always have, you - arrogant -' he's seriously fucking himself now, head almost jammed against the Impala's roof, knees hot around Dean's hips, thrusts getting in the way of his words, '- sonofabitch -' all comes out in one breath, '- but I want you _in_ me and if I never - if you're gonna ditch me here, then -'

'Never wanted to leave you, Sam, god,' Dean says, and his fingers are digging into Sam's hips now, he knows it, and he can't quite bring himself to care because it sure seems like Sam doesn't. 

'But you're going to,' Sam says. 'Aren't you.' He shudders, pulling his fingers out of himself and before Dean can do anything about it Sam's pulling him out of his pants, because he never did get around to doing up his fly again, with wet, hot fingers. 'You're gonna drive me to Palo Alto and you're gonna leave me.'

He heaves himself up, holding Dean's cock steady, and Dean strains up for a second to meet him before realising what's missing. 

'Fuck, no, wait,' he groans, shoving up to get at his back pocket, his wallet, and the condom inside. For emergencies, and this is a goddamn emergency if ever he's had one. Sam's panting and glaring at him, still rocking against him, but Dean isn't gonna damn well do this without a rubber. 'Let me just -'

'Come on,' Sam growls, pushing Dean even harder into the upholstery. 'I don't care, just -'

' _No_ , Sam,' Dean says, pushing back and managing to get the goddamn thing unwrapped without dropping it. 'Fucking cool it.' He shoves Sam far enough out of the way to get the condom over his dick. 'You don't get a choice on this one, okay?'

Sam takes over, rolling it the last few fractions of an inch and Dean can't help but thrust up into his big, hot hand, gasping at the feel of it, perfect and tight and like Sam's inside his head, knowing just how carefully to squeeze and when to back off, and he manoeuvres himself til he's straddling Dean properly again and pushes down, takes Dean in with his teeth biting his own lip white and Dean - fuck. He can feel the blood pounding in him right down to his toes. It's like being high on something, too far gone on pleasure to care about the consequences.

'Sam,' he says, suddenly the only word he even knows any more, cracked and broken in his throat. His hands go up to touch Sam's head, finally thread his fingers through that mop of hair, and Sam leans down, pillows his face in Dean's shoulder while he fucks himself slow-slow-slow on Dean's cock. 

'You're gonna leave me,' Sam says again, desperate, sounding so alone it breaks Dean's heart all over again. 'So you gotta give me this to remember you by.'

And Dean can't bear for him to think he's alone. Can't bear, ever, the thought that Sam might not know how much Dean ... well, you know.

Dean wraps his hands tight around Sam's hips the way he can't wrap himself around his heart, because he knows Sam needs to do this, needs to go. It isn't Dean leaving, it's Sam. But if he could just ... if he could give Sam a reason to come back one day ...

This is every kind of wrong reason, but it's the one Sam wants, and Dean has never been able to deny Sam. Never. So he smooths up Sam's spine, fingers back into his hair and pulls his head off Dean's shoulder to look him in the eyes. Their hips are moving together like clockwork, and Dean's so shivering hot for this it takes him a moment to clear his throat, get some kind of moisture back into his mouth so he can say, 'Sammy, you gotta believe me. Doesn't matter what Dad told you. You can always come back. You can always call me.'

He keeps the pace real slow, hard and slow, holds tight to Sam to stop him going frantic. Because Sam wants to - Dean can see it in his eyes. He wants to burn through this and go, but Dean wants it like the endless highway.

'Dean,' Sam says, gasps, clutching Dean's shoulders. 'Please -'

'Sshh,' Dean murmurs at him, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist. 'Take it easy, Sammy, I got you.'

Sam leans down into him again, presses their foreheads together with his eyes closed. 'Yeah,' he says, taking a shuddering breath like he's trying to calm himself down. 'God, Dean.' He takes his own weight again, lifts and sinks at Dean's pace, so smooth, like silk Dean thinks hazily, like the velvet you get wrapped around artefacts sometimes, and he nudges Dean's head back against the back of the Impala's back seat, mouths underneath the edge of Dean's open shirt collar, and then kisses him. 

He doesn't taste of rain any more. He tastes of Dean.

Dean never wants this to end.

They're pressed together the way they used to be, when they were smaller and younger and Sam didn't have to duck to get into the car, and Dean didn't have to keep him at arm's length, pretending he didn't want to touch, when it was always that he wanted it more than he should. 

And it feels so good, but they don't fit here any more. They fit each other, sure; how could they ever not? Sam all cradled in Dean's arms and opened up for him, and so sweet and tight and hungry, his cock pressed up against Dean's belly and leaking and untouched, and he's got his hands clenched into fists on Dean's shoulders. They're breathing each other's air and that's right and it's good and proper and Dean's holding Sam by his razor-sharp hips and they move like they were made for each other - 

\- but they don't fit. Not in this car, in this moment - not in the dark and the rain like this. Because Sam's still going to Palo Alto. And Dean ...

'Please,' Sam's muttering, eyes fluttering open to look at Dean, fixing him with that focus that's always taken Dean's breath away. 'Stop thinking and just do this. C'mon. Fuck me.'

'Sam,' Dean groans. His hips snap up involuntarily and Sam smiles into his face.

'That's it,' Sam urges him. 'Come on, big brother.' He settles back on his haunches, cramped up under the felt of the Impala's roof, and lets Dean jackknife into him, rides it like a wave. 'Come on, yeah, that's right -'

Dean's not gonna last against something like that, not against Sam's wicked-sharp smile all of a sudden and his hot sweat and the way he takes it like he _craves_ it. Dean's straight-line perspective is all gone and all that's left is Sam. 

'Give it to me,' Sam whispers, combing his fingers through Dean's hair. Dean turns aside, bites into Sam's wrist as he comes, trying to ground himself and failing utterly, because Sam clenches around him and then there's a hot-wet flood against Dean's belly and Sam's panting and whining and fuck, what have they just done?

There's a moment, maybe two, of utter stillness in the dark between them, and then Sam stirs. He noses at Dean's neck as he pulls away, and Dean has to hold the edges of the condom while he lifts off. 'Thanks,' is what he says, flopping over into the seat next to Dean. 

'Thanks?' Dean says, disbelievingly, knotting the rubber and stuffing it into an old takeaway bag to throw away at the next town. 'Sam, you - _thanks?_ '

'What, do you want a standing ovation?' Sam retorts, and Dean can't help but huff a harsh laugh. 

They are so screwed. So screwed up. Dean rubs his eyes and stares out over the front seat through the windshield. The highway is still infinite in front of them, but now it's not a stranger next to him. Everything, even down to the way Sam breathes and the way his knee knocks against Dean's every so often, is so familiar it hurts. Dean doesn't know how he managed to tell himself otherwise. The distance between them is too little for comfort or safety - cold, and normal, and wrong - but now that Dean knows what it feels like to have Sam wrapped around him, those cold inches ache. Gonna ache more in the morning, when you let him go, Dean reminds himself. 

'You got somewhere to be?' Sam asks awkwardly. 'I mean, are you -'

'No jobs on,' Dean says, tucking himself back in his underwear, doing up the jeans he didn't even manage to take off all the way. 'Why?'

Sam's doing up his own jeans. He doesn't make eye contact even when Dean looks over at him. 'Cos ... I'm beat, man, and you look like hell. If you've got nowhere to be, maybe we should try and catch some shut-eye.'

Typical Sam. Always gotta do something boring and sensible. Without looking at him, Dean gets his pants done up and curls into his own corner of the back seat. 'Alright then,' he says. 'See you in the morning, Sammy.' 

He doesn't want to talk any more. Sam sighs, quiet and gentle on the other side of the upholstery. 'G'night, Dean.'

Dean lies there, staring into the dark, and thinks about spending infinity - highways, darkness, an empty passenger seat - on his own. He thinks about Sam having a destination to reach. Wonders vaguely if there's one for him somewhere, someplace he could park up and be satisfied with the same view everyday, but he knows there isn't. He just wants the right person riding shotgun while the world blurs away outside. The world can go fuck itself. Everything Dean wants is here in this car. 

He must doze off, white lines click-clacking through his head, a hundred thousand miles of cassette tapes repeating in front of him, because when he comes to again it's with Sam back in his arms, wrapped around him like he thinks Dean's going to disappear like the way he did when he was a kid. There's no room. But Dean doesn't care. 

Sam's gone the next time he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Title from 'Summertime' by My Chemical Romance (as usual I appear to have fixated and ended up titling all fics for a single fandom from songs by a single band *facepalm*)


End file.
